The Thin Line
by Man Of Reason
Summary: They say there is a thin line between love and hate. What happens when in the world after Tarmon Gaidon the actions of an Empress make Mat unsure of where he stands? AU to be safe. MatxTuon.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing, NOTHING!

A/N: You know the drill, just enjoy. Real characters for once, imagine that. I'll claim this as an AU just to be safe and in the grand tradition of fanfiction, Mat never lost an eye. At least so my creative license says… see right there on the bottom.

**The Thin Line, Chapter One.**

He turned the rare gold mark over in his hands once more, pretending he did not care which side of the coin faced him. It was newly minted, something that _they_ had only begun doing in the last year. _They_ had begun replacing the individual currencies of Tarabon, Arad Doman, Amadicia and Altara with one standard set of coinage. It was especially rare, this deep in Cairhien, to come across one. A Seanchan gold mark.

He brought the wine to his lips, savoring the taste of fruit dancing on his tongue once more, as he bent forward to catch to the light. The gold glittering in his palm revealed a hawk in flight with a crescent moon in the distance. The creature looked proud, defiant. And well it should, considering that a golden hawk in flight is the Seanchan Imperial sigil. He grunted sourly at that. '_Bloody people, two and a half years after the Last Battle and now their making flaming coins? Don't they have enough on their plate with war along almost every boarder they possessed_?' Still, knowing the Seanchan as he did, he shouldn't have been surprised. They were nothing if not organized.

The fact they were doing it spoke volumes though. Two and a half years since the truce with al'Thor ended, two and a half years of the White Tower trying to throw them back into the ocean and the flaming sons of goats had not budged. They weren't going anywhere. If anything they became more entrenched with each passing month, each passing year. The truth was he had no idea how to feel about that, no idea exactly how he did feel. Part of him wanted nothing less than every last Seanchan dead, every last army destroyed, every abomination that they called customs obliterated. He wanted the last most of all.

He turned the coin over in his now shaking hands, from anger he tried to tell himself, and faced the reason that he was confused. A pale likeness of his wife's face stared up at him with her new named etched across the bottom, the word empress across the top. He cared little for that though, to him she would always be Tuon. In truth it looked almost nothing like her, but some details were just so that every time he even glimpsed it the face of the woman he had not seen in three years bloomed to life in his mind. That heart shaped face with the large liquid brown eyes and that dazzling smile. He would see her delight when he gave her the razor, and her anger at been thought of as a thieving servant. Each equally beautiful, at least to him.

'_The face of his wife, the face of the woman he had been avoiding like the plague_', he thought, then immediately winced before taking a long swallow of wine. He had been trying to convince himself that the reason he lived in Cairhien was that it was as far away from the fighting as he could possibly get – you could get holes poked in you when there was fighting about – and that it was just a … coincidence that the same distance existed between himself and Tuon. Some day's it was a happy coincidence, others it tore him apart. He could still smile at pretty women, dance with them even, but they never felt right in his arms. None of them managed to spin his head just so. Burn the bloody woman.

However odd their …engagement, and subsequent marriage, had been he had no delusions. He was most defiantly a married man, or at the very least spoken for. No matter how much he might wish it to be different, there was no getting away from this one. But there was one thing that stood in the way of him been an even remotely happily married man, a small matter of her Light forsaken Empire. '_And, let's not forget, her duties as the Empress_' he added sourly. He remembered his parting words to her, what seemed so long ago, some of his last words to her, "You're not my enemy, but your empire is." He always marveled at how true that had actually become. He had thought that he would be fighting the Seanchan in Rand's name; events three months later at Tar Valon had change that, it became personal. The irony of the situation never ceased to amaze him; the same events stayed his hand.

Quickly deciding that he did not want this coin anymore he sat back in his chair and surveyed the common room of The Nine Rings from his table that was neatly tucked away in the corner. His eyes drifted over the musicians that played near the center of the room, there soft music filling the room. Over the dice game in the opposite corner that held little interest for him, what use did he have for coppers? And caught the eye of one of the serving maids, which was quite difficult considering that night was falling outside and the place was really beginning to fill up. After a moment's hesitation the girl, he had forgotten her name, he didn't see the point in remembering it these days anyway, started making her way through the crowd with a new bottle of wine in her hand.

When he carelessly tossed the gold mark on her serving trey, her far too wide smile and suggestive wink was replaced with a squawk before her stuttering voice came to him, "W..will th-at be all m'lord?" He suppressed the urge wince at that title before he offered a weak smile in return and a nod of assent. It had taken him a long time to learn that the more he denied been a Lord, the more the pattern seemed to want to make him into one. He simply tried to ignore it now; she had only used that title because he was a man with gold after all. At least he hoped that was all there was too it. The moment he caught himself _acting_ like a bloody lord is the moment he fully intended to throw himself out the nearest window. '_Preferably one from a great height_' he added dryly.

He filled his cup and took a long swallow as he admitted the truth to himself. No matter what way you look at it flaming Matrim Cauthon was a lord. '_Lord_ _General Matrim Cauthon, if you please_'. Both inside and _outside_ of the Seanchan Empire, Light how he hated that. When it had become clear he had no intention of moving the Band of the Red Hand out of Southern Cairhien, where they had been recovering since the last battle, to face the Seanchan invaders, the bloody fools at the Sun Palace had begun offering him estates in the hopes that he would stay. Twenty thousand soldiers did a lot for national security after all. He had flatly refused.

The only result was to have them come back with an offer of even more estates; apparently a _lot_ of Cairhien nobles had died. He had been about to refuse again when Talmanes had calmly informed him that unless he planned on leaving Cairhien, and with the Band, they would not stop. The chance to tie a great general to their nation was something they could not ignore, especially in these times. Talmanes words, not his. Having absolutely no intention of going to war he had grudgingly accepted. Those estates had turned out to be rich indeed, though he let Talmanes do most of the Lording. He was a Cairhien lord by birth after all. He divided his time equally between his troops and common rooms. With his scar removed by an Asha'man named Flinn, he could simply leave his hat, scarf and _ashandarei_ behind, and enter a common room and be left alone, nobodies lord. It was something he needed a lot of these days. His hand reached up and touched his medallion through his shirt, he never left that behind.

Outside of the Band few could understand his reluctance to fight the Seanchan and didn't hold back in letting him know it. They could burn for all he cared. The Band thought they knew, word had spread that he had married a High Lady, if not exactly how high. Somehow they had worked miracles in keeping that information from anyone that did not wear the Red Hand; even new recruits felt the need to keep that secret. Three oaths from three grateful Aes Sedai managed to limit the knowledge in the White Tower. The truth however, was far more complicated. Talmanes and Daerid knew it all, and understood. From her silence, even after the Band had grown in number to over fifty thousand and the war continued unabated, he suspected that Egwene knew.

It had started, as most things had seemed to since he left Edmonds field, with a simple choice. He was marching with the Band towards the Tower of Ghenjei when word had come that the Seanchan had struck directly at Tar Valon. The result had been unexpected. The Seanchan, under the command of his wife, had attacked those outside the walls first and managed to capture or kill about a third of the women present in that camp. The rest had fled to the one place they felt must not fall, the White Tower. It was probably the one thing that could force them to do so. He was not sure what had happened next, few outside of Aes Sedai themselves were, but the end result was a deposed Elaida and Egwene raised as Amyrlin of a united Tower. There were rumors of fighting in the Tower itself, between Aes Sedai, between Ajah even, but no sister he had spoken to since had been very forthcoming. Soon after Rand had forge a truce that would not outlive him, though it was never intended to, and the Seanchan had returned to Altara. They had taken their prizes with them however.

The choice had been between two women, one Aes Sedai and one that would be in the future. One that he had already promised he would save and one that he couldn't not. It was the first time in his life that he seriously considered breaking his word. To continue with Thom and save Moiraine Damodred from the bloody snakes and foxes or to head north as quickly as possible and pray that his wife listened to reason so that he could save-.

The sound of gasps rippled around the room, the music that had been flowing constantly trailed off in a few sharp, disjointed notes. More than one chair could be heard scrapping against the floor boards as men stood. As silence descended Mat looked to the door and almost choked on his wine. Every eye watched as Talmanes and Daerid made there way into the inn, everyone knew who they were. Only two people in the Band of the Red Hand wore those uniforms, the Red Hand on there breasts and the three tassels on each shoulder. The uniform that only the commanders of his Grand-Legions could wear. The six tassels indicated that they commanded two grand legions each. In this part of Cairhien they were unmistakable and were held in extremely high regard. Some of the standing fools even saluted. The Band of the Red Hand had earned quite a reputation, something about never losing a battle.

He might have put up with some of that, had they not started walking straight towards him the moment they caught sight of him. '_Can I not even get away for one Bloody night? Do they always have to drag me back_?' he thought incredulously, though anger began to creep in towards the end. Both came to a stop before him and he noticed that they wore small smiles. Immediately he became suspicious, Talmanes almost never smiled. Before he could motion them to a seat they offered small bows, and as realization sunk in the gasps could be heard again, louder this time. He ground his teeth and seriously considered throwing the bottle of wine at them. Since when did they bow? To him? "I suppose you have a good explanation for this?" he asked darkly.

The room remained silent, every ear straining to hear what passed between _General_ Cauthon and his commanding officers. It was Talmanes that answered; surprisingly his smile had not left his face at Mats tone. "Of course, my lord," he was one to keep up appearances, "we know you gave orders not to be disturbed but we thought you would make an exception for this. Two hours ago an Aes Sedai came riding into camp demanding to see you, claiming she had a message from the Amyrlin Seat. After much … _persuasion_ we managed to convince her we could deliver any message that she had, if we deemed it important enough." He reached behind him, produced a letter from somewhere and preceded to hand it straight to him, "She gave me this, but not before telling us basically what it contained."

He did not say he thought it was important, he had no need. To reach here from where he had left them was at least a two hour ride, more even. They would have had to bring extra horses. Apprehensively he took the letter and for a time simply stared at the unbroken wax seal. The Flame of Tar Valon stared back at him. Nervously he looked up at them, "Why don't you take a seat?"

They shared a brief glance before Daerid answered simply, quietly, "We won't be staying long." Talmanes nodded agreement. He didn't know how to respond to that.

There were only a few things that Egwene would write to him about and both hope and dread surged within him. Dread because, however unreasonable, it might be about Tuon and Egwene might be writing to inform him of some triumph. Something began to shrivel inside of him at that thought. And hope…, hope for the very same reason. With shaking hands he broke the seal and began to read.

Dear Mat,

As I sit here writing this I start with joy and yet, after only writing your name, I am troubled. I can't help but wonder whether you will feel slighted that I did not begin the letter 'Lord General Matrim Cauthon'. It is your due, of course, but I could not bring myself to do it. The man I remember would have scoffed the moment he saw it, yet now I cannot be sure that you do not scoff at the absence of a title. It saddens me deeply. After growing up with you, I feel I now do not know you at all. The distance you have put between yourself and those that were - are - your friend's has seen to that. Though Rand seemed to understand before the end, he never shared what he knew.

I do not know your reasons for shutting out Elayne and Nynaeve, both of whom I know for a fact are as saddened as I am, even thought Nynaeve won't openly admit it, but I think I know why I haven't seen you in over two years. I failed to protect her, I failed in my duty.

When the Seanchan attacked the Tower I was the Amyrlin, at least at the time I was _her_ Amyrlin. She followed me. And …and when the Seanchan came I let them collar her, or at least I didn't do enough to prevent it. It was my actions, my decisions the lead to her been in the place she was. Like all the other novices they took that day I lead them like the proverbial lambs to the slaughter. It was my course that lead to that result, that lead to Bodewhin begin leashed. At least that is how you must see it.

It was wise of you not to try to free her yourself when I sent you word. Although you had success once, which the Tower thanks you for, twice would have been far less likely. Besides, rescuing Moiraine was vital to the result at Shayol Ghul, vital to Rand. As hard as it is for me to even think, let alone write, you made the right choice in not going after your sister personally.

It is this that I believe has driven a wedge between us, more so than my title. The knowledge that Aes Sedai led your sister out of Edmonds Field and it resulted in her been made a _damane_. And I think we both know what that entitles. Knowing I could do little to sooth your anger I left you alone and forbid any Aes Sedai from interfering with the Band of The Red Hand. Thought I always held out hopes that we could reconcile, I let you be. Which brings me back to what I mentioned in the beginning of the letter, my joy and with it my hopes of our relationship been mended. At least starting to be mended.

Three nights ago an advanced scouting party, out on an expedition deep into the disputed boarders of Amadicia, made contact with a Seanchan patrol. My reports claim that they stumbled onto each other accidentally and the result was a nasty skirmish. Two of my Aes Sedai died, along with thirty of the soldiers that where accompanying them. The Seanchan patrol was destroyed but more importantly, three _damane_ were captured.

I have the great pleasure of informing you that Bodewhin has been returned to us. Though she only responds to Rita, and acts like any other woman that has been collared for too long, it is her. She was brought to the Tower yesterday, where we could begin her rehabilitation. I looked in on her personally; she is uninjured, healthy and strong. With time, and much care, I am confident she will return to who she once was. I hope this news brings you as much joy as it brought me. You are welcome to come see her at any time and I do hope you will visit soon, though for a time she will not be as you remember her.

Your friend,

Egwene

By the end he had to have been smiling like a bloody idiot, but he didn't care. Bode was free. And with her freedom, all his reservations about attacking the Seanchan were ground to dust. After all, how could he order an attack, any attack, if it contained even the smallest chance that he was ordering the death of his sister? The letter contained other interesting tidbits but for the moment he didn't care, he could focus on nothing other than the fact that Bode was free. Egwene had been wrong on one point; he had tried to free Bode, though after the Last Battle. The truth was that it was impossible to find a particular _damane_ in the empire. The only person with that kind of power was Tuon and there was no way she would have ever helped him. He had been forced to abandon his search and had consequently abandoned his wife. His two commanders were the only ones aware of his attempt.

Carefully tucking the priceless letter into his coat pocket, he finished the last of his wine, stood and met his commanders questioning gaze. They of all people would know exactly what this meant. With a solemn nod, to which both men look relived, he moved past them and began making his way through the far-to-silent common room to the door. Every gaze, from the musicians, to the patrons, to the serving maids followed him. The only sound other than his footsteps been that of the crackling in the hearth as the fire roared. He had absolutely no interest in explaining however, he simply caught the startled innkeepers gaze and said impatiently, "I'll need my bloody horse."

Behind him he heard Talmanes murmur, most probably to Daerid, "And so the Band of the Red Hand begins the march to war once more." He had no idea how true that was. While thoughts of Bode had stopped him fighting the Seanchan, it had not stopped him planning what he would do if he could. All he needed to do now was be careful, he had read histories and lived them, over a thousands years of them. All too often they were wrong and the last thing he wanted was for this to be recorded as a lovers spat. That had to be avoided at all costs.

First he needed to find Aludra, he had a promise to fulfill to that woman that he had not had time for in the past. A cold smile graced his face, when Tuon learned what he was about she would curse the day she ever laid eyes on Matrim Cauthon. Chuckling at the thought of his wife pulling out nonexistent hair, he let the cool air rush over his face as he stepped out into the night. It was not until two days later that he found that bloody coin in his saddle bags along with a note stating that they could not accept his money. All he could do was laugh.

A/N: Anyway I hope it was a fun read.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Still own nothing.

A/N: Enjoy, I hope. This is the last major time jump I promise. Think of the first four chapters of this story as an extended prologue if you want. Just to set up what I really want to write.

**The Thin Line, Chapter Two.**

_Over a year Later…_

Today was meant to be a joyous occasion, a celebration of the lands of her ancestor been returned to there rightful ruler. But she could not make it so. Last night had brought word that the Aes Sedai and there allies had retreated from Ghealdan, what her generals called a strategic retreat, all the way to the Andorian boarder. Strategic or not, it did not matter, the result was the same. Another nation had fallen to the Ever Victorious Army and the Empire grew. _Her_ empire grew. She should feel satisfied and to a small extent she did, but not nearly as much as she should have. Instead she felt hollow, empty… _lonely_. '_What good were new lands if she had no one to share her joy with?'_ If they had captured Ghealdan as a result of a battle and there were newly collared _damane_, she may have felt differently. Instead it was an empty victory, and it did nothing to sooth her.

On the road into Ghealdan's capital, Jehannah, she rode her razor finding some small comfort in the beautiful animal. She reached out and rubbed Akeins neck, just managing to keep the sad smile off her face. It would not do for her soldiers to believe she was sad on the day they celebrated a great victory for the Empire. It would be demoralizing to the army and a bad omen that the veterans from home could hardly ignore. It had been a long and bloody struggle for every league of Ghealdan, the soldiers needed to celebrate, to savor their victory and she would not take that from them. It was time for her to once again serve the Empire and she would do her duty.

How could she expect any of them to understand how isolated she felt in her power? How numb? Her mother had never told her of that aspect of been Empress. Perhaps that is why she had married Farther, a man it was said she loved, so she did not feel so alone. As the early winter winds whipped at her cloak she looked over her shoulder and could have laughed at the irony had it not been so sad. Alone she felt and yet behind her thousands upon thousands of people rode, all at her command. Selucia was there, of course, along with her six personal _damane_, each connected by a silver collar and leash to a _sul'dam_. Following the _sul'dam_ rode the Deathwatch guards.

Rank upon rank of men in gleaming red and dark green armor stretching as far back on the road as she could see. Men that would die to defend her, men that would happily die at a command from her. So many people and yet, apart from Selucia, none of them knew _who_ she was. None of them wanted to know. The Empress was the Empress after all and that was enough for them. Even Selucia had treated her differently after her ascension, at least until she put a stop to it.

In truth she had been trained for this from birth. The concept of a simple friend was almost unheard off, while enemies lurked around seemingly every corner. Those that had surrounded her were there by tradition, at the order of the Empress. For her own safety she had been raised in isolation and she had been well used to it, dealing with it became second nature. She reveled in her duties, in her fight with her siblings to preserve her own life and be named heir. Later she had had the Return to occupy herself with and the thought of the honor she would bring to the Empire in reclaiming her ancestor's lands from the oath breakers.

The news of the early successes had thrilled her; the unimagined success that the forerunners had achieved brought joy. Every time she saw a woman who dared call herself _Aes Sedai_ properly collard and put into the service of the Empire she was filled with immense satisfaction. It had been enough for her; it filled her life and gave her purpose. That was until a man named Matrim Cauthon burst into her life and changed everything.

In retrospect the best way she could think of to describe the man who she hadn't seen since the day they married over four years ago was like sunlight. Mostly it wasn't worth your attention, yet at times it could be extremely irritating and at others it can offer comfort. But try and go too long without it… and you began to _notice_ its absence. '_That wasn't quite right_;' she corrected herself sternly, '_not paying attention to Matrim Cauthon can be quite dangerous. That she had learnt the hard way_.' The man had so many facets to who he was that she despaired at the thought of unraveling them all. He never seemed out of his element, always at ease, always as if he had lived the moment before. Like so many men wrapped in one body, though what he truly excelled at still had her generals looking over their shoulders nervously.

He claimed he had lived in a small village until two years before she had meant him, his farther a horse trader. She had not detected a lie when he had been telling her, but that story hardly squared with the military genius that her best generals, her most trusted generals, claimed him to be. Her generals had taken to _studying_ his tactics, especially the ones he had used against the Trollocs. Even in its absence the sunlight could be irritating.

Her marriage to him had been a cold, brutal even, tactical move. Quite similar to one she would make in a game of stones, a calculation of what was best for the Empire. After weeks of bearing witness to his …_talents_, she had know that he was a danger to the Empire and removing him from opposing the Return had been her major objective. She had never really expected him to abandon his people and return to Ebou Dar with her. '_Though it had been a nice dream_,' she silently admitted to herself, '_childish, but nice just the same_.' Still, at times, she couldn't help but wonder how things might be different had he been in control of her armies, wonder where the return might be. Had she known then the trouble he would eventually cause her, she may never had said those words, despite any fortune her Lidya had ever told her.

The first time she had been angred by the fact that she had indeed married the wayward Matrim Cauthon was on her return to Ebou Dar. The city was gripped in mourning and she had not ridden very far at all before she had been informed of the catastrophic news. Her mother, the Empress, had been killed in the Court of the Nine Moons, along with every other member of her family. The imperial family murdered, as well as almost all members of the high Blood. There was rioting and looting in Seandar, and elsewhere. Reports of civil war were flooding in, before everything from across the ocean went silent, with the remaining Low Blood contesting the Crystal Throne. It was utterly inconceivable. The empire in tatters, and there was absolutely nothing she could do. She had been livid. There was only one group of people capable of such a vile act, the Aes Sedai. She had vowed revenge and had been planning how to gain it ever since.

In an effort to add a small flame of hope in the face of such tragic news, she had let the word spread that she had married, that the Empire had a Prince of Ravens and the royal line would continue. After the death of her family her greatest duty to the empire became producing an heir. The marriage of the Empress went a long way towards that.

For a time it seemed to work, the bleak mood of the city lifted, if ever so slightly, and rumors abounded about who her husband was and how long the empire would have to nervously wait until the succession was insured with the birth of her first child. And the people, at least those from home, waited for the arrival of the Prince of Ravens, and waited, and waited. Over fours years later and his continued absence caused no end of rumors and slander against her person. She forced herself to stop gritting her teeth as she quickly looked over her shoulder once more. Were they looking at her with more concern than was appropriate? Was there to much worry etched on those frozen features?

As the weeks turned to months and the Last Battle came and went, proving that the impossible nightmares that Matrim told her of were not children's tales, she began to worry. If the Trollocs, Mryddraal, Draghkar, Darkhounds and Grey Men were all real, why not a _ter'angreal _to another world where the Aelfin gave true answers? It had occurred to her than that if that was actually true, and not a lie like she had initially believed, than Matrim may never have said the words with the intention of marring her. If that _ter'angreal_ existed, and he had been told he would marry the Daughter of Nine Moons, then it was more than likely he had simply been suffering from shock and had little control over what came out of his mouth. Before he had learnt of her title he had been intending to leave her behind, after all, not take her with him. Her time with him had proved that he knew almost nothing of her people's customers. '_What chance was there than that he knew of there marriage customs before he said those words_?' she asked herself quietly, yet again. She was afraid of the answer to that question.

Oh how that thought played on her mind and had grown worse the longer he stayed away. '_Did he accept that he was married?_' She had quietly asked around and found that by his customs they were far from a married couple. '_Was he acting like he was married?_' Again she had to calm herself from what was most defiantly not a jealous rage. '_Most defiantly not_,' she weakly repeated, trying to make herself believe it. As those thoughts had come to her she had remembered the fortune that her Lidya had told her and wished that she had paid closer attention in the beginning, instead of having her beaten. Now those words plagued her, especially the last sentence. '_Beware_ the man of the red hand, for him you will marry and _none other_.'

'_She was here doing her duty and the only man she would ever marry was,…was spending half his time in tavern rooms, with th-, those peasant serving girls that he seemed to like so much_.' She forced her hands to stop making fists. She remembered how they took to him too; the Hell in Maderin had proved that. At least when he had been in Cairhien her seekers had been able to watch him for her. Now, now she didn't even know where he was.

For two and a half years he had sat in southern Cairhien and she had begun thinking that finally something good had come of her marriage. When she had departed his Band, he had claimed he would fight her empire, but for two and a half years he did anything but. The longer he didn't fight a small flicker of hope had begun to grow, that perhaps he would come around, that she had done the right thing. She had begun contemplating kidnapping, just to push him in the right direction, and then overnight it all seemed to change.

Like ants disturbed from an anthill the Red Hand spread out from their walled Fort to every part of Cairhien and beyond. Groups of soldiers spread out in all directions, all with seemingly different objectives. The seekers reported that groups were sent to recruit new soldiers, more masons banners were planned and two new ones, but what they were didn't leave the forts walls. A large contingent sought out Aludra, of all people. Her weapons had been more shocking than effective, what he wanted her for she hadn't had the faintest idea. Two thousands soldiers rode for the Black Tower. Others offered obscene amounts of money to bellfounders, and once they accept, packed up their families and belongings and guarded them like royalty until they reached the Fort. The Band recruited more blacksmiths, carpenters, and fletchers. They expanded their logistics corps, brought far more supplies than they needed and the wagons to haul it all.

It had all amounted to one thing, the Band of the Red Hand was preparing for war. Every day the reports had flooded in, one after the other, reports of progress and training. Day and night the furnaces roared, armor produced, weapons made. Her seekers caught whispers of something named 'Dragons' but had been unable to say what they were. They did however note the arrival of one hundred and fifty Asha'man.

The news had spread, as it often did, and for weeks the Tarasin Palace had been a hive of activity at all hours. Nervous generals strode the halls, finding sleep hard to come by. Plans were made on how to react to anything that might be thrown at them. The Aes Sedai might not be able to make use of gateways due to lack of numbers but the Red Hand had no such problems. Personally she hadn't faired much better than her generals, every report came to her, every piece of news no matter how small. She had been determined to know everything, to see if she could learn what Matrim was planning.

It had all come to a head three months after the first reports of activity from the Fort had come in. It had been midmorning, and had been raining steadily all day, when she had been informed that a soldier of the Red Hand had presented himself at the Palaces gates with a message for the Empress. For a few seconds she had wondered how the messenger had managed to make it all the way to Ebou Dar without been captured, before she reminded herself that that was hardly important. She had a message from her Husband.

When the man was finally brought before her he had been arrogant, proud and defiant. Blatantly ignoring any and all instruction he would have received, he came straight up to her without so much as a bow and presented her the letter. While the deathwatch guards had glared and waited for the word to execute him, in truth had itched for the word, she hadn't been paid them the slightest bit of attention. Instead she was transfixed by the red waxed that showed a fox startling two ravens into flight. For several minutes she had simply stared at it. Both excited and weary of what it might say. It had been an effort to break to seal and read it. Eight simple words had been written in a hasty scrawl in the middle of the parchment. 'The Band marches. Do you offer your surrender?'

After reading the message for the third time, just to be sure she hadn't missed anything; she had let a small, cold, smile grow on her features. In truth part of her wanted to laugh delightedly, it had seemed that Matrim wanted to play games with her. Another part of her yearned to send for the headsman and it had nothing to do with the fact that her husband had just declared war. Over three years without any contact and all he could manage were eight words. And nothing personal, nothing at all. As if he truly didn't care about her at all.

She hadn't dignified the letter with a response. With an angry flick of her wrist she had had the soldier thrown out of the Palace. He had left with an irritating smirk on his features, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. More than likely it had been planned, though she still, over a year latter now, had no idea to what end. Whether or not that man had been an Asha'man was something that she still mused on from time to time, though it mattered little. Matrim would have known her response before he even wrote the letter, and had acted accordingly.

That night, before anyone in the Taraisn Palace had time to react properly, he attacked. Word came in slowly at first, but gathered momentum as the extent of the damaged became apparent. A _raken_ scout had been doing a routine sweep over Tarabon, deep into lands that the Return had controlled for years, when she had noticed a fire on the horizon. A blaze that only seemed to grow as she approached, according to the report she submitted. She had apparently flown straight towards the fire, until she recognized where she was and realized what was burning. One of the three military strongholds that secured Tarabon for the Empire, was been completely and utterly destroyed. After that she had flown straight to Ebou Dar, nearly riding her _raken_ to death.

Inspection of the site the next day confirmed the worst. Over thirty thousand dead veterans from home, eight dead damane, with another thirty three unaccounted for. The walls, the _stone_ walls, had somehow been blown to pieces, and her generals seemed to have a dark suspicion that it was not the work of the one power. The entire compound had been burnt to the ground; not one building was left standing. Supplies destroyed, stores burnt. The only thing that was intact was a flagpole in the middle of what had once been a proud military base of the empire. A Red Hand on a field of white fluttered in the breeze. Of her husband's army, there was no sign.

On that day, in a rage the likes of which she rarely had, she ordered the complete and utter destruction of the Band of the Red Hand. Its general was to be captured and brought before her. She had reasoned with herself that Matrim would be upset but with time she could make him see it was for the best. Though she was not at all as confident of that as she pretended she was.

Since that day not a single member of the Red Hand had been killed in her name. Days of frantic searching had followed, to appease the Empresses anger. _Raken_, seekers and every loyal member of her empire watched for any sign of the Red Hand, all to no avail. Apart from ten thousand troops that seemed to have been stationed in southern Cairhien, in and around the Fort, the Band of the Red Hand had vanished.

Over a year later and still there was no word of where the Red Hand was. There had not been one sighting. Her only comfort was that there Fort was still as secure as ever; the blacksmiths worked until late in the night, and most importantly still seemed to be getting paid. Dead man did not pay their blacksmiths. Rumor suggested that the Red Hand had made massive purchases of grain from Tear, but other rumors linked that grain to any other nations she cared to name. Even her Empire. What worried, what hurt her most though, were the whispers her seekers had heard coming from the Red Hands Fort. Spoken of only in corners, in hushed tones her seekers reported that those that lived and worked in the Fort spoke happily of a name. What they believed was a woman's name. Ellisande. And if the people of the Fort spoke happily of a woman it could mean only one thing. Their lord was somehow linked to this woman.

'_Matrim Cauthon belongs to me_,' she thundered internally, '_when I get my hands on him I'll teach him what it means to be faithful. And her_,' she wouldn't even think her name, '_for consorting with the Prince of Ravens Imperial law demands she be hung. She will suffer a far more painful death than that_, _she will beg for death_.' Before her the city of Jehannah came into view as she topped a rise and finally she found reason to smile. She had put it off for too long already, if Matrim wanted to play games with her she could most certainly play one with him. It was time to teach her husband exactly who his wife was, even if he didn't believe it. A small part of her was saddened though, forcing Matrim to come to her was something she had wished to never do, but there was nothing for it. She had given him enough time already.

Gesturing over her shoulder, she had to wait only a few seconds until Furyk Karede caught up to her and bowed in his saddle. Her title came from his lips in soft, reverent tones, a slight questioning to the word, "Empress?"

She paused as she looked him over, giving herself one last chance to change her mind. When she decided to proceed, she sadly wondered if any hope of a happy marriage ended there and then. "When we reach Jehannah you are to send word to the _marath'damane_ that I want talks to take place. The word peace is not to be uttered, only talks." She said sharply and waited for him to nod his understanding before she continued, "I care little about there demands or what they have to say but three things are to happen. I choose the place, I choose when and I choose how long they are to go for." It would more than likely take time for word to reach Matrim. "I am also to be informed of how many Aes Sedai they will bring, so I can bring an equal number of damane."

Karede bowed from his saddle once more. His face showed no hint of surprise at the Empress wanting to meet with the so-called Aes Sedai. She was the empress, after all. He merely asked the first question that he needed to. "Where am I to say these talks are to take place, Empress?"

This time she did laugh as she played her game with Matrim. "In a village called Edmond's Field. I was told it is in the Two Rivers region of Andor." After that she had no need to worry that her soldiers would see a sad Empress, the delighted smile did not leave her face for hours. After four years she knew it would only be a few more months until Matrim was within reach once again. And she did not intend to let him stray ever again.

A/N: I don't really like this chapter but I couldn't see how to do it differently. Thanks to all those who reviewed, more to come soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I still own nothing, but I did buy a pizza…

A/N: Thanks to all those that reviewed. I don't know if this will ever actually happen, probably not, but I loved the idea. I had to make up some names here, but it worked, look at a map if you can. Enjoy. Oh and don't expect all chapters to be this long, this one got away from me a bit.

**The Thin Line, Chapter Three. **

Talmanes sat on his mount, his fingers itching to grasp the hilt of his sword and join the fray. In the distance banner after banner moved forward to meet the Seanchan. In tight, well controlled squares, the legions of the Red Hand marched at a slow, inevitable pace, their banners swayed with each step, at the same time they fluttered in the breeze. His hand itched again as he remembered only the Foot would be involved today, at least until the enemy broke and then he would be in charge of harassing the enemy. His orders were clear, pursue until they either surrendered or crossed the fast flowing Eradez River and go no further. Those that crossed were to be let go, no unnecessary blood would be spilt today. "Never leave a man without a way out," he had been told long ago, near the beginning of his education, "unless you wanted to see how hard a man with nothing to lose could truly fight." He had not forgotten.

The hill he sat on gave a clear view of the valley below, of the rocky terrain that was unsuitable for cavalry. The High Lord Tefan had made a fatal mistake in dithering too long. Now his force was caught between the approaching Foot and the Eradez behind him, leagues from the nearest crossing. Had he decided to run earlier and leave Shon Kifar to Cauthon he might have made it to the opposite banks of the river and safety. But that would have required him giving up his lands and estates, something the arrogant High Lord had probably never even imagined since he had laid his claim for the throne. So instead the man had let it be known that he would not let his eyes be lowered by fleeing and intended to stay behind Shon Kifar's walls and fight to the bitter end.

In response the Lord General, it was getting harder to think of him as simply Mat by the day, had ordered a slow march. "Let the fool sweat," he had said, "and if he sweats enough maybe we won't have to dig him out." Tafen's resolve had held out for two weeks until he broke and ran. The Band, all seventy thousand of them, had still been five days march from Shon Kifar's walls. He had made a brake west with his thirty thousand for Yetadar, a small village that had grown around the only bridge for hundreds of leagues that spanned the vast width of the raging Eradez. Yet another person had underestimated the speed at which the Band could move when they needed to. Perhaps he had believed there reputation to be inflated? 'Speed is life' was one of the Lord Generals beliefs. Another was never leave an enemy at your behind that would cause you trouble later. Which is why they were here today, thirty leagues _east_ of Yetadar.

He turned in his saddle and looked behind him, where his grand legions waited patiently for his orders. The thirty thousand Horse were good men, they looked alert, attentive and well rested from the days when they hadn't pushed hard. A few man were checking weapons, others chatted quietly with the man next to him. They knew their part would come later. If Tefan broke west, they would follow slowly and push them across the Eradez at Yetadar. If they went east, back toward Shon Kifar… the pursuit would not be so slow.

'_That's if they broke at all_,' he thought grimly. More than one foolish High Lord had chosen death rather than be sentenced to life in the work gangs. Another of the Lord General's notions that. Not executing the nobles that brought forces against him, that resisted, but rather sentence them to rebuild that which they had helped to destroy. When Talmanes had questioned him about it he had merely said he was simply following Hawkwings advice. Strangely he had said that as if he _knew_ the man. '_Must be another book he had read somewhere_,' he decided, '_though how he got them where he claimed to have grown up was anyone's guess_.'

Hopefully Tefan would die early and his army would surrender. It had happened before. Glancing over his shoulder quickly he almost smiled. Around half of his thirty thousand were born in these lands. Soldiers whose loyalty to the man they named the Fox was just as strong as it had been to the Empire. Perhaps more so, Cauthon restored order and brought peace to the territory under his control, while the Seanchan had simply maintained it, at least in there lifetime. Mat always simply referred to it as his territory, or 'the territory they controlled', yet another name was used openly anywhere the General wasn't. Ellisande. Mat tried to put a stop to it a first, angrily claiming he was not here to crave out a bloody new nation. Then when that had failed he had taken to ignoring it, though on more than one occasion Talmanes had heard him bitterly mumbling to himself that he never should have said anything.

From the Foot below the first war cry went up, "_Dovie'andi se tovya sagain_" It's time to toss the Dice. The first was inevitable followed by the second and this time the Horse behind him joined in. '_Carai en Ellisande!_' Talmanes mentally translated, 'For the honor of the Rose of the Sun!' The ancient battle cry of the original Band of the Red Hand. The man beside him visibly flinched. Mat had told some men when he was drunk after the Last Battle, and they had not forgotten. Quite simply, if the original Band of the Red Hand had fought for Ellisande, then so would they. And they had taken the first opportunity to do so. It didn't matter to them what the word translated to, they _needed_ a name.

"It makes no sense," the Lord General all but spluttered, "How can a nation be called the 'Rose of the Sun'?" Even as he said it he signaled behind him with his odd spear and a green flag was raised. Further down the slope and much closer to the battle he could see the banner-general of the artillery turn around and raise her arm. Though she had her back turned and was a half a league away, he was sure Aludra had a smile on her face as she lowered her arm and her five hundred dragons roared to life. He was also sure that the smile grew as death from her invaluable weapons rained down on the Seanchan and their screams carried to her on the wind.

"It doesn't matter what the word translates to," he replied calmly, "they needed one to describe what they were fighting for." Again he almost smiled, "And the Red Hand did originally fight for Ellisande."

Mat turned his head to glare at him briefly before shifting his attention back to the battle as he said, "That battle cry referred to a _woman_, Talmanes, not a bloody nation. Not Manetheren."

"So you have told me before, Eldrene, the last queen of Manetheren, if I recall correctly." Which he was sure he did, having researched the topic himself. "Perhaps one day it will fit properly. Maybe people will give your wife the same title they gave Eldrene." He immediately tensed as the words left his mouth, he had meant them to be lighthearted but too late he remembered that mentioning the little Seanchan Lady was a sure way to get his back up. Which was why he was doubly surprised at what came next.

"Tuon?" he scoffed incredulously, "She looks _nothing_ like Eldrene." Out of the corner of his eye he could see him stiffen suddenly and some of the color drained from his face. "At least, from what I have read."

"Of course, how else would you know what she looked like?" he agreed uncertainly. '_How else could he possibly know what she looked like_?'

"Of course," Mat agreed. As the dragons roared for a second time, lightening and fire began to fall among the Bands soldiers and the ground began to explode under others. Suddenly not all the screaming that could be heard was from the enemy. It didn't last long, it never did. As the drums began playing within the legions, the Asha'man that had helped them cross the Aryth Ocean, or at least the forty of them that were marching in the bands armor below, searched out the _damane_ within the High Lords forces and systematically stilled them all. From the scouts reports there were no more the twenty five present. Even from here Talmanes could sense the confusion within the Seanchan ranks as the _damane_ became useless. The confusion more than likely turned to alarm as the crossbowmen came into range and there first volley slapped into there ranks. However it was only when the Asha'man began the work they were infamous for that the true carnage began.

"They better bloody be protecting those _damane.' _The Lord General stated quietly. There was no need to say who he meant. The Asha'man's first orders were always to still the _damane_, their second was to ensure they aren't killed needlessly.

"There's no need to worry," he said confidently, "Flinn would have made sure of it." Mat just grunted in response. It had been Flinn's idea from the beginning but Mat had taken it to heart. After what had happened to his sister it was easy to say why. After each battle the _sul'dam_ would be sent away, if they weren't running already. The _damane,_ on the other hand, would be carried off by the Asha'man to a place they had constructed outside Mat's Capital. Flinn was adamant that they would learn to be women again, to be human. According to him he had the ultimate incentive for them to do so, he could restore there connection to the power.

The first that had entered that compound were those they had taken in Tarabon, in their initial raid. He didn't know much about what occurred in that building other than once the Asha'man were convinced that a woman was her own person once more, they offered to restore her connection to _Saidar_. A few had declined and walked away free woman, mostly though, they eagerly said yes. What had surprised Mat _and_ Flinn was the severity with which they demanded to be allowed to join the Fox's armies and fight the Seanchan. Six months ago the first woman had had _Saidar_ returned to her and still they weren't allowed to fight.

Looking to his left he studied the group of fifty or so women. They looked…eager. Not a single one wore grey; they were of all shapes and sizes, a mismatch of a group if he had ever seen one. Yet they had one thing in common, both the incredibly old and young alike. When any of their gazes drifted to the Lord General, as they often did, the fever that shone brightly in their gazes was unmistakable. There was absolutely no doubt who they held responsible for their freedom and there was nothing that he could ask them that they would not do. '_Light, three of those women used to be Aes Sedai,_' he tried to convince himself once again. They only reason they had decided not to fight the Seanchan was because he had asked them not to. They would be healing men today and no more.

He was drawn from his study of the women as Mat turned to him and asked in unsure voice, "Do you think I did the right thing by coming here?"

"Certainly," he replied without hesitation, "Tefan would have crossed the river with that force and joined with th-"

He got no further as Mat cut in roughly, "No, that's not what I meant. Did I do the bloody right thing by coming _here_; this plan blew up in my face life an illuminators firework. Do you think I made a mistake?"

Talmanes blinked in surprise, he had never expected to be asked that question, especially not in the middle of a battle. Though looking down he noted that it was hardly going against them, and then he understood. With both the death of Tefan and the capture of Shon Kifar basically certainties within the next few days, it was done. What they had set out to accomplish at the beginning of the year when they realized they could not leave had been done. "If it was a mistake, then it was one that other man dream of making."

Mat laughed bitterly, "A dream? Talmanes my dream is that I'll wake up tomorrow and find myself in a common room of an inn, any inn, have a pretty girl on my knee, good wine in my hand, a fire in the hearth and a decent dice game in the corner." He shook his head ruefully before he continued in a serious voice, "How many men lay in shallow graves on this continent because I thought I could waltz in, snatch a city out from under their noises, maybe a little more, and then play a game with the Empress? How many men?"

Talmanes looked around to make sure no one was within earshot before he spoke with all the surety he could manage. "I still think your plan was a good one. Under the same circumstances I would still do the same thing. We simply could not have been prepared for what we would find when we got here and that changed everything. In the end we did the right thing, the honorable thing."

"But not in the beginning," he said regretfully. "Those men whose graves litter our path did not deserve this end, some may even be dieing as we speak and for what, a failed plan to save our home?"

Talmanes took his time before replying to that as he remembered. The message to the Empress to make sure she was watching. The night of fire and blood in Tarabon that killed thirty five thousand of the Seanchan Empires soldiers, and eight of their _damane_ that had not been in the kennels when the Asha'man covertly began the attack. The outpost had burned, the reserves destroyed, the stockpiles stolen, all in an attempt to hide the real reason for the attack. They needed maps, or more specifically, maps of a land none of them had ever been to, maps that every command post of the Ever Victorious Army had in abundance.

He could still remember later that night as he sat in the command tent, the fires from the destroyed Seanchan outpost giving the night an eerie glow. After stilling the _damane_ the Asha'man in the kennels had had one objective, make sure the maps didn't burn. He sat and watched as map after map of lands they knew next to nothing about were carried in by one soldier after another. He could remember Mats voice as Master Roidelle flattened the map on the table that he had been looking for, the one that depicted the whole Seanchan continent. "Since before the Last Battle there has been a civil war on the other side of the Aryth Ocean, the Forsaken had seen to that. Involving upwards of fifty or so different factions, or so I have been reliably told." He drew one of his knifes out and, after a brief pause, stabbed it into the map, right above a city in the eastern most peninsular. A small smile had graced his face as he spoke, "This city is known as Seandar, former capital of the Seanchan Empire. The court of the Nine Moons is there, along with the Tower of Ravens. But more importantly, it is where the Empress grew up, it's _her_ home." He had looked intently at everyone present as he continued. "Lets see how she stomachs the idea of the Band of the Red Hand ruling in Seandar." His smile grew then as he quietly said, "Let's see how much she wants it back."

The laughter that had followed that statement still gave him nightmares. Seandar had cracked like an egg two weeks later, and the Red Hand flew above the city from every staff. He had walked into the Court of the Nine Moons with Mat, right up to the very Crystal Throne itself, yet by that stage all the joy they should have felt had long since dissipated. It had left them the moment they rode through the gates and their eyes fell upon the people and the city streets. The city was in the grips of a famine, with the bodies of those that had already succumbed tossed into the street like so much garbage. The gaunt faces of those left alive, men, women and children, watched with disinterest as they rode by. Their dispassionate eyes staring off at nothing in the distance, perhaps caught in a memory of happier times. Not one raised a cheer, not one raised a protest. Three years of constant civil war right across an Empire that had know little but peace for the last seven hundred meant one thing. There had been near three years without an anywhere near decent harvest. It soon became apparent that the Empire was starving; almost all food that was grown was snatched up by the rival armies. If a farmer protested too hard, his body was left behind.

There could be no enjoyment of the architecture then, or what was left of it. The city had apparently changed hands many times over the previous three years, the capital of the Empire been the favorite target of all the Blood. Surprisingly the immense Imperial Palace and the wonderfully landscaped gardens were almost untouched. Outside the palace walls, however, was a different story. Over half the buildings were destroyed; half the rest were in serious disrepair. After marching though the city for no more then half an hour, no one had any thoughts whatsoever of informing the Empress of the capture of Seandar.

The Red Hand had a starving city to feed, and a city full of dead to clear before disease took hold. Even in the worst of the civil wars in Andor and Cairhien it had never come to this, never became this bad. The people had given up all hope; they had stayed in Seandar simply because they had nowhere else to go. Three days later wagons laden with grain began to roll in, the beginning of the end really. The Band's soldiers had distributed the food throughout the city to a disbelieving populace. It was the end of viewing the people as the enemy and the beginning of the notion that _they_ were now responsible for _them_. One look at the children's faces, their hesitant smiles, their joyful laughter, convinced them of that. Even the Asha'man agreed. A way had to be found to keep these people alive.

The result had been the raiding of the Imperial vaults in Seandar to purchase as much grain and livestock as they could manage from Tear. Then the campaigns had begun. Under the Lord Generals direction the Red Hand had, along with the hundred or so Asha'man who would not remain behind in Seandar with the others, ranged north, capturing the top of the eastern peninsular. Three months it took, five different factions destroyed, five different High Lords or Ladies either captured or dead. What remained of their armies given the choice to disband or swear new oaths, to a new General. As the Red Hand conquered with one decisive victory after another, its armies grew. Soon the news had spread, like a wildfire on the dry plains, that wherever the Red Hand ruled, wherever they conquered, they brought food and peace. Sometimes they would turn up to a town to find the gates wide open, one of the Blood in chains and soldiers already on one knee. Those were the days that the General was the happiest. Three months of fighting for one simple reason, one simple principle; never leave an enemy at your back.

The Imperial vaults in Seander were deep indeed, but they would not last forever. After pacifying the north the Red Hand had swept south, down both sides of the Jianmin Mountains. Like a runaway bull gathering momentum as it went, the Red Hand trampled all before it, each successive victory hot on the heels of the last. Between the Asha'man, their Traveling, Aludra's dragons, the fractured nature of the land itself and Matrim Cauthon, it had almost been unfair, almost. He had no sympathy for those that committed the atrocities they had witnessed in this civil war.

Down the peninsular they marched, adding territory after territory to the lands they controlled, destroying warring factions indiscriminately. They rode for the breadbasket of the former Empire, the fertile land that lay between Kirendad and Shon Kifar. They followed the Jianmin Mountains until they meet the Aldael Mountain range, capturing Kirendad as they went. Having secured their western boarder after nine grueling months of fighting below Seandar, they had struck east along the northern banks of the Eradez, and had been closing in on Shon Kifar ever since. Farmland that had been deserted for more than four years would produce a crop next season, the governors that had been installed in each territory were seeing to that. Governors that were selected on merit alone, another of Hawkwings ideas, that.

In over a year of fighting there numbers had grown such that there were now three armies in the field, each roughly seventy thousand strong. The Red Hand itself was before them now, biting deeply into Tefan's ever decreasing army. Daerid and Mandevwin were digging in close to Kirendad, protecting there backs from anything that may come at them over the mountains. Kellar, a Seanchan captain that had caught the Generals eye in the field, patrolled the peninsular, discouraging a direct attack at Seandar from the sea. As it stood, no army other than those at the command of the Lord General had come within a hundred leagues of Seander in months. In total, counting the soldiers stationed in each town and village, the total number of soldiers that they could draw on at need came close to four hundred thousand. Which was remarkable considering that they had only crossed the Aryth with sixty.

As he remembered he grew certain that something else was the issue entirely, or at least, only part of it was. He turned and caught Mat's troubled gaze as the cool wind whipped his cloak about, "Every man has been given ample opportunity to return home. We made it abundantly clear in the months after we arrived what we planned and still they stayed. They are not out there fighting for Andor, Cairhien or Tear. They fight for what we do here, for the people. They fight for Ellisande." He stopped himself from adding 'and for you' just in time as Mat sourly grunted. "Truthfully I don't think you could make them leave. But you yourself told me this months ago," he had been heavily drunk and the wording had been '_bloody_ Ellisande' but the principle was the same, "do you truly think that if we were back there, sixty thousand strong, that we alone would have prevented them from taking Ghealdan?"

"Maybe, Talmanes, maybe." He said regretfully, "But that's not the point." He spread his arms wide as he continued, "Here we are, rebuilding _her_ former lands, saving swaths of them from civil war and she is on the other side of the Aryth, destroying _our_ home. Tell me, what have we truly done to prevent that? Nothing is what, and for that I am responsible."

Talmanes was momentarily appalled, "Surely you don't mean that. We now control roughly a quarter of the empire, a far more enticing bargaining tool then just Seander alone, your plan may still work, even better than we expected. If she may have agreed to stop hostilities to gain Seander, she may agree to give up _nations_ in return for what we now-" Mat looked at him sharply and the words died on his tongue. A hope that he had been silently harboring for months sprang to life as he breathlessly questioned, "You don't mean to give them back, do you?"

"How the bloody well can I?" he said sharply before sighing, "She won't give those lands back, not for anything. To her, they were rightfully hers to begin with. Seandar may have brought a peace treaty, which then may have diverted her attention to these lands but now we hold too much. Too many men of the Red Hand have perished for these lands for me to be able to even consider giving them to her in any deal unless it involves her total withdrawal from our home. And that, she can never do."

Talmanes smiled, something he rarely did ever since his wife and child were murdered in Cairhiens civil war, "It's a pity we won't be leaving anytime soon then, my king." At Mats glare he laughed before continuing only half seriously, "We'll just have to face her in the field then, m'lord. That is, if you truly do want to prevent her from taking more of our home and we are more able to do that now then we were a year ago. Though, I must say, I have never heard of the women that would thank her husband for relieving her of her empire."

"Nor have I, ever." Somehow he managed make that sound significant. A mischievous smile took his features before he continued, "She did say, 'I live to serve the empire'. If I control her empire…"

Mat even laughed with him this time, "You're a braver man than I if you want to test that theory. More foolish too, I think." Below them war horns sounded, signaling Tefan's inevitable retreat. There was only so much of that carnage anyone could take. He watched carefully then let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. '_Thank the creator, they broke west. There wouldn't be much more senseless killing today_.' "They head for Yetadar. Shon Kifar is ours."

Mat nodded as if he had been expecting nothing less for months, "Follow slowly, only kill those that turn and fight. Light, take rest breaks if you want to, just make sure they cross the light forsaken bridge. I'll take the foot to Shon Kifar and, once Tefan crosses, you hold Yetadar. Begin building a winter encampment and don't let anybody or anything cross that bloody bridge without been searched. Send _raken_ when everything is secure." They were orders, yet Talmanes hardly needed them, he had already gone over the plan twice today. As Mat watched Tefan's army turn tail and run he continued. "Who knows, perhaps in a few days I'll get my dream. I'll wake up in an inn, perhaps one in Seandar, with some good wine, a fire burning and some dice in my hand."

Talmanes signaled over his shoulder to his banners of Horse and watched them slowly begin to move as he frowned. "What about the pretty woman?"

"You yourself said she was in Ghealdan, Talmanes, an ocean away from Seandar." Mat said far too casually.

Talmanes surprised himself by laughing again, perhaps he had been looking forward to the end of the campaign, at least for the winter, more than he realized? He did not know what would happen come spring, but he had heard Mat talking about consolidation, rather than expansion. Rule three: never overextend yourself. "So she is m'lord. So she is. Forgive my momentary lapse of judgment." He said, slapping him across the back. As he began to move off toward his Banners, he waved a hand in farewell, "I'll see you in Seandar."

He did not get far, however, before he was forced to draw rein as Mat called out to him. "And Talmanes," there was a smile on his face, but he thought it looked strained, "If you ever refer to me as your king again I'll hang you from the nearest tree." This time Talmanes didn't laugh, he didn't even smile. He was not entirely sure that Mat was joking. '_Did the man prefer Emperor_?' he idly wondered as he rode after his grand legions, his itching hand finally making its way to his sword hilt.

A/N: Juicy huh?


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